


Time, Patience (And a Pinch of Hate)

by PhoenixDragon



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 07:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The God would learn there was no such thing as Mercy.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Time, Patience (And a Pinch of Hate)

It was like putting together a intricate dessert.

First the whole of History - laid out: fixed points, schisms and alternate timelines. All there to be pinched, molded, kneaded into just the right mix for setting it all right; setting it the way it _should_ be.

The way the Order planned it.

DNA from the Pandorica.

Melody Pond (River Song) - simultaneous weapon and perfect spy.

(By the time they would find that bug, it would be too late.)

The Doctor's own research into the Flesh - so helpful, so innovative (and his own undoing.)

The God would learn there was no such thing as Mercy.

That _their_ God trumped his petty influences and paltry attempts at 'saving the Universe'.

It was all in place.

All the parts in motion.

All the pieces set.

The Doctor _would_ die - he would never reach Trenzalor.

He would never answer The Question and undo the work they had spent centuries - since before the death of Gallifrey (at the hands of that same Mad God), planning.

She would prove that Gods could die.

Through her spy on the beach, she _did_ \- and smiled the smile of zealous satisfaction.

The False God toppled. Death dealt by the closest companion, the dearest lover, the gentlest hand.

An irony – the blow coming from within: The Child of his own TARDIS.

His dear machine, his sweetest caretaker – his loving murderer by proxy.

A beautiful web.

So fragile, so strong – so very, _very_ deadly.

So very fitting.

The last honor for a decaying Godhead.

After all - it was like baking a delicate cake.

And **watching** him die...the extra frosting.

Beautiful when it all came together, the sweetest taste ever imagined.

All it took was time, patience - and a pinch of hate.  


**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** Written for [](http://who-contest.livejournal.com/profile)[**who_contest**](http://who-contest.livejournal.com/) 's **Prompt:[Bake](http://who-contest.livejournal.com/48220.html)**. Usual thinky, dark materials and thoughts. Hastily beta'd. Hope you enjoy the concoction...sweetened to personal tastes.  
>  **Disclaimer(s): _I do not own the scrumptious Doctor or his lovely companions. That honor goes to the BBC and (for now) the fantastic S. Moffat. The only thing that belongs to me is this fiction - and I am making no profit. Only playing about!_**


End file.
